Where Have All the Flowers Gone?
by Gysgt. E. Buck
Summary: Final chapter in the Vietnam trilogy. It's being written out of order, but it can also be read out of order.


Where Have All the Flowers Gone? Part 1

Steve opened his eyes. He had no idea how much time had passed since he blacked out. Looking down at his watch gave him no comfort either, the thing was smashed.

_That's right, I brought my hand up the moment I saw the-_

He didn't remember what landed the blow to his head, only that he was rushing out of the room to check-

_Maria._

Excruciating headache forgotten, he raced through the office space that bridged the gap between the security room and the holding cells. Not bothering to notice that every cubicle held ones who had, not an hour before, nothing to worry about except getting off in time to see their families.

Steve found the door leading to the hallway where he suspected Maria would be, kicked the door in, and pushed inside. Looking on the other side, he found her, lying in a pool of blood.

_Please, God. Not her. Not now._

He tore down the hall to where her body lay, and kneeled at her side. Pressing two fingers to her throat, he checked her pulse. A faint throb echoed in his fingers.

He heaved a sigh of relief, but then the horrifying reality set in. She was alive. But she wasn't going to make it.

Steve reached into his front pocket and pulled out a satellite comm. She might still have time, but her chances were slim.

"Break-Break. Silence fini. Sierra 1, this is Charlie 2, requesting medevac immediately. Sierra Foxtrot has gone hot. I say again. Sierra Foxtrot has gone hot, we need medevac ASAP. Over."

"Roger, Charlie 2, This is Sierra 1. We're WILCOing now. Ping your location. Over."

Steve pressed a small button on his comm. There was a short pause

"Ping received and confirmed. ETA is 6 mikes. Get to a visible location. Acknowledge.

"Wilco. Over and clear."

Seven minutes. Her chances got even smaller. He checked her over for any shock injuries. , interestingly, she only had 2 wounds. Some head trauma, and a gunshot wound to her-

_Shoulder ? _

Yeah, she was hit in the shoulder. Judging by the powder burns on her shirt, it was done from roughly three feet away. At a range like that, there was no way anyone wanting to kill her would miss her heart or her skull. So why her shoulder? Steve grabbed two ace bandages and gauze pads from his fatigue pocket, dressed her head, ripped her shirt at the sleeve, and gauzed the entrance and exit wounds of the gunshot. Lifting her up to dress the exit wound on her back, he noticed that there was an indentation in the floor. That angle intrigued him. That's when he realized.

_ She was lying down when she was shot._

The bullet had gauged its way through her own flesh and into the floor. He brought his attention back to her and checked the comm's built-in clock.

_ 5 minutes to ETA._

Ensuring that, yet again, there were no injuries to her spine or neck, he hoisted her over his shoulder and ran towards the front. He stopped at the lobby, turned down the hallway to the right, grabbed the drive case he had dropped when he was knocked unconscious, and trotted out of the building, Maria on one shoulder, evidence on the other. The SHIELD quinjets, although VTOL, were unable to land in the streets. There was only one other possibility. Running across the street, he burst through the door of the office building that they had used as a stakeout the week before. Pivoting to the right, he scanned the lobby for a stairwell entrance. Finding one, Steve Rogers, with a combined weight of almost 200 pounds on his shoulders, tore up the stairs faster than any human being on the face of the planet was capable of doing, with or without the resistance added.

Reaching the top, Steve kicked down the door, not bothering to check if it was locked or not. As he bolted out the doorway and onto the roof, he could see the profile of a SHIELD quinjet on the horizon. Steve's comm crackled to life.

"Charlie 1, this is MEDEVAC Echo 7, request secondary ping. Over."

Steve pressed the ping button numerous times, eager to get the hell out of there.

"Ping confirmed, Locking on to your position now. Clear"

Steve watched as the aircraft banked towards the rooftop, making it's way swiftly as the setting sun provided a frame for the jet. In no time at all, it was hovering directly over the rooftop, slowly descending on his position. When the jet got close enough, a ramp lowered out the bottom, Steve wasted no time in entering the craft and laying her body on a stretcher inside.

_-Ten weeks later-_

Maria had finally been discharged from the infirmary, as SHIELD's doctors and psychologists had taken their sweet time in ensuring that she was mentally and physically fit to return to service. Steve kept to himself, choosing to spend most of his time in the gym. His usual supply of heavy bags was running low yet again. He'd have to tape them up. This was getting old. He had just hung up another one when she walked in.

He silently watched as she carefully wrapped her hands in gel bandages, and put gloves on top of the wraps. She then walked over to the bag, took an offensive stance, and began hitting. Steve still quietly watched as her swings became less and less controlled. He stood still as a glistening layer of sweat coated her skin. He stood and watched as the expression on her face became less focused and more angry. Anger turned to an expression of hatred. Her swings became flails. It was time to stop.

"Maria. Stop."

Maria showed no signs of even hearing him as tears began streaming down her face.

"Maria. Stop."

Maria still showed no sign of stopping as the healing skin on her shoulder burst and blood came welling down in large teardrops. At this point, she wasn't going to.

"MARIA! STOP!"

Steve grabbed the sandbag by the chain at the top, and flung it away from her towards the opposite corner of the gym. Maria kept swinging. Steve, ignoring the missiles, stepped over to her and embraced her. She fought against him, screaming and kicking until she had no more strength to do so. Steve held on. After a minute of this, she collapsed into a limp, sobbing mess and wept in his arms. Steve held on, not letting go as the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes turned to hours. The entire time, strong Maria, tough Maria, Maria whom had been the best damn soldier SHIELD had ever seen, wept at her own inadequacy.

The days became weeks as no intelligence had turned up regarding Loki's position or movements. Maria, when not in the gym, or holed up her room, monitored the surveillance networks like Clint Barton. She would find that bastard. And she would be the one to take that bastard out. No one else was going to lay claim to her prize.

Steve could only watch as Maria became obsessed with revenge. Worse still was that he knew nothing he could ever say or do would stop her addiction. It angered Steve, not being able to do anything. It felt _wrong._ He hated it, to be honest. It was his only fear, helplessness. Just like being helpless to the fact that he had missed the War that America lost. Why he himself was so damn obsessed with it. Because he wanted to _do something_. And all America wanted to do was forget.

Maybe that's why she was slowly killing herself over Loki. All anyone wanted her to do was forget. But she knew that wasn't going to happen. She needed closure. And she was going to get it: at the point of a knife. She was going to get her pound of flesh and then some.

At 2000 hours on Saturday, March 19, Steve Rogers was called to Nick Fury's office.

"Steve. We've found him."

"Let me guess: Vietnam."

"Well, yes, actually. We've found him in Hanoi again. Any particular reason he keeps showing up there?"

"None that I know, sir."

Steve knew.

Fury eyed him for a moment, then proceeded. "I won't be telling you everything, but all the intel on him is contained within this document." Fury handed him a folder with a photo of Loki and the numbers 081949 stamped on the cover. "You are reminded that special agent Hill is not to know."

"Sir. Yes, sir."

"Any questions you may have are addressed in this document. You are dismissed. Go to your quarters and pack up. You will leave in 30 minutes"

Steve made his way down the floors of SHIELD headquarters to his designated barracks. He liked the feel. Sure, he was stuck in a glorified office building, but at least he got to live close to work. Barracks was also probably the wrong term for it, as it really was more like an apartment suite. Spartan in its decoration, yes, but still livable. He grabbed two backpacks, filled one with clothing, and the other with all manner of weapons. He left his shield behind. There was no reason to go waving his infamous logo on yet another covert op. As he zipped up the pack, his eyes fell on the wall opposite his bed.

Covering the entire wall was a collection of dog tags. Each one belonged to Steve's closest friends and allies that he had lost in war, their bodies never found, or buried overseas. This was their only grave. The silent tribute to their greatness, for no words could ever express the love they had for their fellow men. This was their monument. Steve had figured that someday, his own dog tags would be added to that list. His gaze drifted towards the lower row, at the very last one he had hung.

Barnes, James Buchanan

Serial # 031941

Shelbyville, Indiana

Steve heard the door slide open behind him as soft footfalls padded towards him. He heard the _click_ of a hammer being pulled back. Then he felt the sensation of cold steel being pressed against his head.

"You want to come along?"

"I'm going, whether or not you let me."

Steve knew it was pointless to argue.

"Pack your bags."

"Already done."

He stood up, and led the way out, down the hall, up the elevator to the flight pad. A quinjet stood parked in the center. The pair made their way over to it, boarded, and began preflight tests. Other than the basic commands, neither of them spoke to each other. They made the 4-hour flight in total silence, the only thing that came remotely to any form of communication was when Steve handed the classified document for Maria to examine.

It was dark when they arrived. Oddly enough, their mapped LZ happened to be the same location as their last extraction. When, Steve thought he almost lost Maria. As the quinjet landed, Maria grabbed her pack and headed out. Steve followed suit with both his. As they exited, he broke the silence.

"Look, Maria, There's no point in hunting a god in the dark. We're going to have to make some kind of camp."

Maria stopped, turned around and looked at Steve. He saw the obsession in her eyes; the hatred that was her only motivation for living. At this point, she was a lost cause.

"I'm just saying. He's a god of illusion, mischief and all other kinds of things that perform better in the dark than during the day. If we want a chance of taking him down, we can't go looking for him tonight."

Maria, at first, looked down, to the left, and back at Steve. She then conceded.

"You're right. Let''s head down to the room we used as a stakeout."

The pair ambled down a flight of stairs to an old executive office. Steve brought lights. Taking one last look at the map, Steve and Maria decided it would be best to head out early in the morning, and search for him near the alleys encircling the area. They had surmised that he was spending the day somewhere within that general area, as recon had concluded that he rarely left the area, night or day.

Steve knew why. He was waiting for her. As to why the god was waiting on her, the answer eluded him. It was, no doubt, part of some elaborate deception. Apparently Maria had something he wanted, or he wanted to kidnap her, or something like that. Steve didn't know. One could be true, both could be true, or they both could be false. Who knew except the gods themselves?

They had decided to set a watch. Maria would take the first shift, then, in a couple of hours, wake him up. They would exchange this for roughly 3 times tonight, then egress at daylight. Steve leaned back against the wall, setting his watch for 2 hours ahead. He closed his eyes and let the gentle caress of sweet sleep embrace him.

Steve's watch alarm woke him up. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he started. Maria wasn't there.

"Maria?"

No answer. Why the hell hadn't he seen this coming? He stood up, grabbed his pair of flechette guns, walked down the stairs to the lobby, and exited.

Maria waited until Steve had been asleep for ten minutes before carefully escaping his suspicious presence. He had every right to be suspicious, she did just ditch him to go search for Loki alone. It was against every known protocol, but so was going on an op that she had expressly been forbidden to go on. She knew where Loki was. It was the same back alley they had first met face to face. The first place she had fell in love. It would be the place that she killed him.

She silently walked into the alley, waiting for him to say the first words that would initiate her fight to the death. For a while, nothing happened. Then, a silky voice laced her ears.

"It would seem that you have come here again at last."

Maria whirled around to face the origin of that musical, lilting tone. Meeting the emerald eyes of her beloved, her aroon, her despised enemy, the author of her hatred, she said nothing.

Loki sauntered closer to her. "So, my sweet, have you come to kill me, or to surrender yet again?"

"The answer is pretty clear."

Before he could react, Maria drew her boot knife and sunk it into Loki's abdomen. His expression changed from one of detachment to one of pain and betrayal. He screamed. But it was not Loki's scream. It was Steve's

"MARIA! STOP!"

Loki collapsed to the floor and grasped at the knife now searing its way into his intestines. Maria watched. Then she saw it.

On the ground, lying at her feet, clawing at the knife, was Steve Rogers.

Steve looked up at Maria, who now had an expression of panic on her face. She immediately knelt at his side and began to grab the knife by the handle.

"Wait." Steve gasped, holding on to as much air as possible. Shaking, he reached into his fatigue pocket and pulled out gauze and wrappings. He nodded to Maria, who quickly withdrew the knife. He began to scream, but cut himself off and clenched his teeth, sucking and exhaling air at an alarming rate. As she quickly dressed the wound she had inflicted, Maria couldn't fight back the tears that were welling up in her eyes. Steve grabbed her hand with all the firmness his weak, shaking hands could allow. Reassuring her. Reminding her that she still had a job to do.

Maria had no option but to continue. This was where her hatred, her rage, and her love had gotten her. It had opened her up to one of Loki's illusions, and falling for it, she had seriously wounded one of her closest partners. This was going to end, now.

From the shadows came a slow clapping. Then the voice of the god of mischief.

"Ahhh, _darling_, I didn't know you were calling another one your beloved. Please, tell me why you chose to withhold this particularly, _interesting_, bit of information from me.?"

Maria was not going to answer, not this time. Watching the tall, slender figure emerge from the darkness, she vowed not to fall for any more of his tricks. She was going to war. She was going to kill.

Instantaneously, and without warning, she took a swing at the god, who abruptly dodged. The following kick managed to hit him solidly in the jaw. He reeled. Maria followed up with every punch fueled by her passion, by her love, by her hate. Some landed, some didn't. Some were countered with hits from her adversary, some weren't. They fought for what seemed like an eternity. Each party becoming more and more exhausted with each blow until they both collapsed, both leaning on each other and hitting each other with murderous intent. the god finally annoyed by the fight, grabbed Maria's discarded knife, and placed it in between her ribs. Her own weight brought her down on the weapon. She choked as blood filled her lungs, then her throat. Then she collapsed in a crumpled heap on the pavement. Still.

Steve watched the fight, berating himself at his own helplessness. He would have given anything to rip Loki off of Maria and send him to Asgard in his own special way, but he couldn't. He felt worse than he ever did when he was just Steve Rogers, not Captain America. This was his greatest dread. And right now it was gnawing at him.

He watched as Loki grabbed the knife and stabbed her. Suddenly, a burning fire awoke within him. He was no longer helpless. Ignoring the excruciating pain, he stood to his feet as Loki struggled to do the same. Before he could react, Steve had him, in one hand, by the neck. Loki, in spite of his precarious position, emitted a guttural laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"You- You loved her. Didn't you?"

Steve Rogers, Captain America, paused.

Did he love her? Did he ever have the feeling that, maybe, they could share their lives together. Did that though ever cross his mind? No. He loved her more than that. He was there for her when she needed him. He held her as she faced the impending fear that she would hesitate during combat. He embraced her when even she didn't know what to do, when she needed a friend. And when the time came to finally end it, he let her do what she had to do. No. They were not lovers. Their bond was closer than any two lovers on the face of earth, in the universe. They were comrades. They were brothers. And now she was dead.

Without warning, Steve flung Loki into one of the walls lining the alley. He could hear the crunch as Loki's already broken nose shattered even further. When the body slumped Steve bent over and whispered "god of tricks, it's time for you to meet my God." Steve picked Loki up by his shirt collar and began repeatedly hitting him. Blow after murderous blow, he disfigured the god so much that even he couldn't tell whom he was fighting anymore. Steve watched as the god's heartbeat finally faded to silence.

Steve Rogers, Captain America, knocked on the door of an apartment in the Chicago slums, neatly folded American flag in his left hand. A small, old man answered the door. The man's eyes were bloodshot. He'd obviously been drinking. The old man, eyes trailing down to the flag in Steve's hand fell to his knees and sobbed. Steve felt nothing. He was numb.

He felt nothing as the coffin, American flag draped over it, made its way to the cemetery. He watched it as it slowly sunk into the ground. He listened as seven guns fired three times. He felt nothing.

Steve walked into his dormitory, made his way to his bedroom, and sat on his bed staring at the wall opposite. He thought about the friends he had made, the ones he had killed, and the brothers who died next to him. His eyes drifted from tag to tag as he remembered each and every one of his fallen brothers. Last, his tired eyes rested on an onyx necklace, emerald inset, mounted on a gold chain. Attached to it was a tear-stained, illegibly scrawled note card that read:

Hill, Maria Christina

Serial #: 032005

Chicago, Illinois

And Steve Rogers, Captain America, wept.


End file.
